The green copy button lit up. The machine whirred steadily. Casey placed her forty-page memo on top of the feeder and pressed “copy.” She sat on the nearest chair and cried.
By eight in the morning, Casey was showered and dressed in a black suit. Sabine and Isaac had been long awake and were drinking their wheatgrass shakes in the Gottesmans’ marble-tiled kitchen. Melon wedges, yogurt, and toast had been put out on the counter.
“Have something to eat,” Isaac said.
“And the green stuff.” Sabine lifted her glass, grimacing. “Mmm.”
“Good morning,” Casey said, politely waving away the offers. She poured herself a cup of black coffee. If she could smoke in Sabine’s apartment, life would be a lot better. She had to move before school started.
“How are you?” Sabine was scanning the front page of the Times. She pulled down her reading glasses. “You look awful. When did you get in last night?”
“Three. Another great party at the office. Ha, ha.” Casey was disgusted with her lack of sleep. After she’d dropped off the memos on Larry’s and Karyn’s chairs, she’d worked for another twenty minutes, then finally taken a black car home.
“Poor baby,” Sabine murmured. It was pointless to tell Casey to quit now.
“They don’t pay you enough to work like that,” Isaac declared.
“Joseph McReed died,” Casey said. She leaned her hip against the island counter and sipped her coffee.
“The old guy with the bookstore?” Sabine frowned, noticing Casey’s melancholy expression.
“Who?” Isaac asked. He was snipping wheatgrass to make Casey a double shot.
“This book dealer that Casey took the bus with on Seventy-second Street,” Sabine explained, then turned to Casey. “Oh, how sad. He was your friend. And he gave you that incredible vintage hat from Lock & Co. You know, I called them in London after you showed me that hat. But they weren’t interested in distributing through us. I had this amazing idea of doing our windows with their things. You know, an Ascot theme!” Sabine raised her open palms like a showgirl. Her rose-colored manicure twinkled. “I phoned our window guy, Jolien, and he thought—”
“I hadn’t seen Joseph since I moved out of Unu’s. Because now I take the bus on Fifth. And I hadn’t checked in with him because I was busy, and—” Her stomach gurgled. She took another sip of coffee.
Isaac came forward and put his arm around her. Sabine moved closer to huddle with them.
“His memorial service is in an hour. At the Society Library.”
“You can make it?” Isaac asked. “Those bastards are going to let you go? Ah, then again, who cares. Go anyway.”
“Speaking of those bastards, I have to call Bastard One,” Casey said.
“Have fun.” Sabine shuddered and returned to her paper.
Isaac handed Casey a glass of wheatgrass juice. “For courage.”
She downed it, then ate a bite of toast. After taking a deep breath, she picked up the kitchen phone. Isaac pinched his nose with one hand and waved away the air with the other, as if there were a foul odor. Sabine burst out laughing.
“Larry Chirtle speaking.”
Casey zipped her lips in the direction of Isaac and Sabine. “Good morning, Larry. It’s Casey Han.”
“Hey, Casey,” Larry said brightly. “Got the memo. Did you get a chance to look up the numbers for Drane—？”
“I should have it for you this afternoon.”
“Not this morning?”
“I have to go to a memorial service.”
“Someone die?”
“Yes. A friend.”
“That’s too bad.”
“He was a good friend,” she said, sensing his disapproval.
“Will you get a chance to finish the project this afternoon? I don’t mean to be a jerk about it, but if you can’t, I’ll hand it over to someone else.”
“No need, Larry. I said I would. But I have to go to the memorial.”
“Yeah, yeah. Of course.”
“Thanks.”
“O-kay.” He hung up the phone.
Isaac uncrossed his arms. “That’s a stupid business. And that’s no way to talk to another human being. He’s going to make a terrible banker.”
“Well, he’s my boss for now.” Charlie Seedham, the real boss, had charm to spare, but he reserved it for important people, not interns. Even Larry could be perfectly human if you didn’t work for him.